


Drowning

by theforgotternsecret



Series: Johniarty- The rising tide [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Byaii Peeps, Could be triggering, Fluff and Crack, Gay not gay John, I don't have these /emotions/ which you talk about, I don't know, I mean talking sandwich levels, Jam, Johniarty!!! - Freeform, M/M, Ninja Hobbits, No Spoilers, Or are there? Mwhahahaha, Seb is the best, Sharing a Bed, Well slightly crack, and by slightly, anyhewws, getting together fic, hardcore hedgehog, re edited, shooty shooty stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-16 08:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3481907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theforgotternsecret/pseuds/theforgotternsecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's haunted by the war, by the pool, by the deaths he has witnessed and been a part of. He desperately needs to be distracted from these ghosts and usally his is by the drastic style of his life. Bu when Sherlock starts acting odd- freezing him out of cases, his nightmares don't just recur the start to become true; he needs another distraction.<br/>  Johniarty</p><p>This is set between The Hounds of Baskerville and Reichenbach fall, over the span of about a month  ^_^</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jump right in, the water's lovely!

 John Watson, was having one of the most boring days of his life. Well, of his life after he had met Sherlock. But still, relatively, it was dull! No case, no explosion, no nothing; the know-it-all, annoying, and rather cute detective had rushed off leaving John stranded in favour of some bombing on the other side of London. He had been left in the dust of an overcoat.

"For the last time- John, you cannot come." The frustrated genius had yelled when John continued to walk next to him.

"Why?"

"You fidgeted all through the report, so I could- if I wasn't me- of missed something."

"If I say sorry then can I come?" John begged his blue eyes wide, _but no,_ although John had only fidgeted to stay awake _that stubborn burk_ had decided he would just mess something up.

Mrs Hudson was too busy not being his house keeper to care, Molly was off doing Mollish things, and honestly John really didn't have anyone else.

After slumming at the flat for an hour, the ex army doctor went swimming. Really, he regretted it immediately. He hadn't been anywhere near a pool since The Pool. Ignoring the chills running down his spine, he jumped into the sparkling turquoise overgrown puddle. Kicking hard, John swam up and down, trying to block the inevitable images of the Irish madman. After ten minuets of mental torture, Watson gave up and got him self out of the pool. After towelling, and dressing quickly, he rushed back to 221B, not quite escaping from that echoing voice.

By lunch he was bored again, he had finally managed to wash the scent of chlorine out of his blonde hair and had slumped into his red chair, staring bleakly at his laptop screen. He checked his email. Nothing. John wondered off and changed into his pyjamas. He checked his blog: no comments. He strolled into the kitchen, ran his finger along the shelf stuffed with jams, _hmm... Apricot? No, no, no. Strawberry?_

_Nope._

_Raspberry? That would have to do_ , making his sandwich, he then left the kitchen. Back in his chair he checked his computer. No change. And because he wasn't allowed on this recent case he had nothing new to write about.He took a moody bite of the sandwich and sighing, the blogger ran his hand through his hair, aware that he should probably get round to cutting it soon. After checking his email yet again, he decided to get an early night. Because honestly he needed one, the bags under his eyes just proved what non-stop violin playing and flashbacks of the war every night would do to a man's sleep. Ignoring his food he shuffled to his room, and sat down on the bed. John lay down and faced the wall, he turned over, and turned over again. This was going to be fun. At 3 in the afternoon, he definitely had the early night he wanted, but going to sleep would be hard. 

When his eyes decided to stay shut, his brain welcomed a nice change to the reliving the war:

John was swimming again, the chlorinated blue water pushed against him as he ploughed his way through it. The heavy use of chemicals made his throat burn, but still he dived under. The warm water felt thick, but oddly comforting. Lights that hung from the ceiling, shone through the surface and shone down on his hair, mixing gold and platinum streaks in with its base ashy blonde colour. One word shone in his mind, Surreal. Then, reality slammed into his dream knocking it into a darker path: John couldn't breath, the chlorine burnt in his neck and set fire to his lungs;  twisting his whole body upwards he battled the exploding pain in his head and the suddenly much thicker water and powered up to the surface- which was shrinking away from him. The pain increased. Screaming, he fought the ache in his muscles, the bubbles drifted lazily to the surface, taunting him. The doctor began to sink. He NEEDED air, flailing he pawed above him, the light which had once had loving caressed his hair, shone into his eyes. The doctor was blinded, drowning, his heartbeat pounded in his ears like bullets. Flashbacks of the Afghanistan danced back into his head as he began to loose consciousness- guns, screams, blood, pain, panic, death. With his last breath the solider yelled.

John broke through the surface, gulping the harsh cold air he realised two hands where gripping his shoulders. His eyes slowly followed the thin arms up. He found himself drowning again. But in a different sense entirely...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, slow chapter I know but meh :)  
> It has JAM in it- what are you complaining about?


	2. Treading water

Sherlock had been in the flat a mere second before a scream rang out, _business as usual then_.Whipping of his scarf, he walked up the stairs. “John?” The brunette pulled the door open slowly, as the screaming intensified, he sat down, his face stone like, and watched the spectacle: The man was jerking up and down screaming fit to burst, repelling the impulse to write notes, Sherlock walked over to John.

“Watson.”

He bent down, then quickly stood up. The spasming man almost headbutted his nose. Sherlock liked his nose. The younger Holmes brother sat back down in his chair, what to do now? John started clawing at thin air now not screaming. Was this better? Well it was definitely quieter. Gritting his teeth, Sherlock began to text Mycroft, he knew slightly more about people, _apparently._

  
**What should I do? SH.**

 

**What, brother mine? Should you do about what? Mycroft.**

 

**You're not watching? SH.**

 

**Surprisingly, Sherlock. I do have more important things to do than to watch your flat all day and night. Mycroft.**

 

**Being a 'minor' government official cannot be that important. What should I do to help John? SH.**

Sherlock looked up, John had rolled to the side of his bed, his breathing had evened out. The phone binged.

 

**Why not just let him sleep? Mycroft.**

 

**He was screaming his head of. SH.**

 

**That, brother, is called a nightmare. Just let him be. Mycroft.**

The conversation was cut of by a yell. John flung himself off the bed and slammed onto the floor. Sherlock watched as the man began again to scream, this time his blue eyes flew open remaining unfocused as he grabbed his own hair.

“Aghhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The blonde man flew to his feet.

“Aghhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

He screamed in Sherlock's bemused face.

“Aghhhhhhhhhhhhh!”he yelled running to the door  
The door slammed against the wall as the John still screaming run out of the flat, and then another as he ran onto the street.

“Aggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

 **What should I do now? SH.**  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After ten minuets John had just about managed to stop screaming, he lapsed in to a walk and nonchalantly he turned down a side street to escape the worried stares. He didn't however escape his own worries:  
_Brown eyes, BROWN eyes! Who the hell do I know with BROWN eyes?_ _OH thank God! Sherlock's are sea-foam. MOLLY, yes! Phew. I mean of course it's Molly._  
John sighed out loud, then glanced over his shoulder.

_Who else would it be?_

  
He smiled slightly, then frowned.His feet propelling him forward, down a side alley, then another, trying to escape the conflict of his brain.  
_Though these eyes looked slightly bigger, and Molly's arms aren't that thin. And actually thinking about it nor that pale._  
John widened his eyes.

_No, it must be Molly. Must be....But.._

John stopped his walk, realising he had turned down a dead-end and that he had no idea where he was, no idea at all. He raked his fingers through his hair, there was a door in front of him. He pushed his ear against the cool metal, no sound. He squinted his blue eyes and peered through a gap.  
The ex solider pulled his gun from his pocket, his curiosity overcoming him, and tried the handle. It clicked. Cautiously, the army doctor pushed the grey metal door open and against his better judgement walked in...


	3. Shooty shooty, splish splash

Thick, reinforced, steel. Much heavier than John thought it should be, the door dragged across the floor, squeaking slightly. The reason for the extra weight became apparent, even to the untrained eye of Doctor Watson, the metal was lined with numerous different locks and bolts. However, why this heavily armed door was unlocked, completely baffled the detective's blogger. He scanned the room, it was empty of all life.Shrugging unconsciously, John, started to walk towards the centre of the dingy, metal lined space. As he stepped a cut out template of a man popped up.  Staggering backwards he held his gun up in front of him.

“HELLO?” John shouted, eyes darting around the room searching for more details: many others silhouettes lay scattered on the floor, ripped through with bullet holes; metal stairs carried upwards to a balcony, hugging the corners of the room; other stair ways lead higher still to the hard grey ceiling; monkey bars tracked they way to the centre of the of the oval. It was still quite clearly empty.John squinted at his feet, there where lumps in the flooring- Pressure pads. He sighed. Realising the sound of the outside world had been cut off when John had walked through the door, he cautiously shot his L106A1 at the cardboard cut out.

The headshot spun the figure like a spinning top; it folded as it hit the floor. John grinned.

_Brown eyes._

He frowned and jumped on the pressure pad and shot again,

_It's Molly._

He ran to the stairwell,

_Isn't it?_

At the top another pressure pad set off the target again, he shot.

_Must be._

 

 

 

**Click.**

 

 

John froze, thirty seconds passed, a new target appeared,

_Ooh a time delay. Clever._

He shot whilst running, spinning the bullet across its throat.

_What are the monkey bars for though?_

John set his jaw and climbed up higher shooting at the targets when they appeared still pondering his dream,

_It was certainly strange, no one had ever saved him in a dream before. But maybe he was overreacting, it was probably Molly anyway. Must be Molly. Lestrade? Nah not that pale._

Watson peered at the distance between the bars and his head...

_Maybe?_

He peered around, replacing the bullets in his Pistol, the solider jumped up, grabbed the bar above his head, swinging across the room he fired the clip, more into the floor more than anything else. He decided that he wouldn't worry about the eyes anymore, it was probably nothing... Anyway it was just a dream. Launching onto the other balcony John smiled properly and ninja styled the stairs leaping and creeping. It was really fun after all. Eventually the ex army doctor, rejuvenated, rolled onto the floor and off the stairs. He awkwardly, looked over his shoulder, opened the door and walked back to a main road before hailing a taxi to 221B feeling a bit stupid but much happier.

 

* * *

 

 

About 5 minuets later, the abandoned warehouse received another visitor. Another Blonde ex solider. This one was taller, more muscular, and whistling. Sebastian Moran, frowned when he reached the door. The expression on his face looked much more murderous than it did on John's, he glared at gap between the brick and metal. He pushed the door open growling. Walking briskly through the door he surveyed the mess of tattered cardboard and holes in the floor.

“Crap.” He swore picking up a bullet, the cut out appeared in front of him, “The only time I leave the effing door unlocked.” He ripped the head off the paper man and dug his phone out of his pocket. Moran typed in a number and held the phone to his ear. The phone ran once.

“WHAT?” Despite it not being on speaker, the voice echoed out of Moran's phone- its venom tangible.

 

The sniper seemed to calm him self before answering.

 

“Sir. We have a _slight_  problem...”

 


	4. Under Current

Moriarty was annoyed. That idiotic sniper of his, **better** have a good reason for interrupting his Saturday, and even then Jim wouldn't be happy. His whole weekend was now ruined!

_How DARE he?! I want to grab his stupid blonde hair, pull back his head and SLIT his lousy THROAT._

The criminal's rage was completely fair to him, Saturdays where **his**  day: only a bit of light torture in the morning to wake him up, and then he left his job, mostly, behind him. Today he had turned his attention onto 221B, contemplating blowing it up again, when he saw Sherlock's pet alone in the flat. Now the consulting criminal knew the otter-like-man was on a case, so why wasn't his blogger? He zoomed in on the cardigan wearing man, John stormed into the bed room. Jim's eyebrows twitched, as he switched to another hidden camera. The blogger flopped onto his bed and was asleep in minuets. The psychopath yawned. 

 _Dull_.

Just as the madman reached out to turn the screen off, a loud scream blared out of the speakers. He paused, looked back at the screen, and frowned.  
_What was the fuck is he doing?_

_Well it sort of looks like front crawl._

Jim rolled his eyes, and nestled back in his spinning chair. John started gasping, scratching at the air. Moriarty reached out to touch the screen, the sleeping man started to spasm all of his muscles clenching and un-clenching, sweat and tears mixing on his face. The criminal's trousers grew inexplicably tight, John began to scream again. Jim paused the live clip, and stalked John's day up to that point, exasperation at Sherlock, swimming, jam. He resumed the footage and the ex solider de-froze began to spasm faster and then just stopped altogether.

 _Swimming, hmmm?_ Moriarty wheeled himself to another screen and tracked where John's phone had been, hacking quickly into the security footage Jim searched back a couple of hours.

_Now to see what Watson keeps under those hideous jumpers._

However before he could locate the good doctor, another scream rang out. Sliding back in front of the screen Moriarty locked eyes on the spasming man, the door to John's room flung open and Sherlock ran in. Jim collapsed onto a fit of giggles at the scared and confused expression on the detective's face. Breathing hard, the Irish man tried to keep in his laugh, knowing that this laugh of his was nearly impossible to stop, many a torture session had had to be paused down to it. He watched through watering eyes as Sherlock sat down and began to text. Now hacking into his phone, Jim laughed even more.

 _Ah, the little dear has to ask his brother for help._ After reading the Holmes brothers entire conversation, Jim fast forwarded the footage, John had awoken and left the flat 5, 10 minuets ago. Moriarty fiddled absent minded at the edge of his suit, _Hmm well John is certainly more interesting than he looks._ He stood up glancing briefly at the swimming pool footage, and then walked to his sofa to lounge in front of the doctor who, grinning at the master's crazy schemes.

But no this perfect day had to be ruined by Moran. After expressing is annoyance down the phone, Jim watched Sebastian pull up on the other side of the road, before crossing and coming up to his current flat. “Sir,” Moran repeated gaze on the floor “We have had a break in,”

“A, 'break in' where Moran?”

“My, er, training building.”

Even though Moriarty's sniper was about a head taller than him, He still shrank away from Jim's gaze.

“What happened?”

“Er...”

“ER?” Moriarty snapped

“I sort of left the door open and...”

“Oh, Sebby, Sebby, Sebby.” The consulting criminal sung, shaking his head, circling his sniper he put an arm round his back. “Is that really,” he hissed, “ **My** problem?”

Sebby gulped,

"That's right darling," He tapped the man on the back "It's really not!"

“Sir,”

“Whaaat?” Replied Moriarty stretching out the word, tapping his foot.

“You do know where my training building is?” Jim froze.

“No, Sebby boy, I do not. WHY?”

“It's. Urm. Two. Er.” The consulting criminal flicked his eyes to the right then the left.

“Two ers wow. Oh, how enlightening!”

“No, um. It's probably nothing, but it's two blocks away from baker street. Their marksmanship is fantastic.”

“What?”

“Sir, just check the camera's please.”

Jim gritted his teeth, Seb's eyes where infernally cute when he did that, all blue and puppy like. Sighing, the madman acknowledged that he had meet his down fall, and briskly turned back to his computer room. Moran knew he had to stay outside, but 50 seconds later he forgot this as his boss started to laugh.


	5. I can imaginatively name all the chapters, what are you talking about?

Seb watched in bemused amazement at the James Bond wannabe dancing and diving on the screen. More accurately he would of done if his boss didn't push and lock him out the room, through tears of laughter. Seb only knew of the hilarious antics on screen, from his boss's intermittent cries of: "Look at the little pet dance,"; "Well _Someone's_ trained you well haven't they?"; “Johnny boy, I would sign you up, any time, to play James Bond with me." "God, with moves like how are you stuck with Sherl?.” After a final whoop of laughter, Jim Moriarty emerged his cheeks slightly pink and his flies on his jeans where slightly open (contrary to popular belief there where objects in his wardrobe that weren't suits). Moran raised his eyebrows slightly at his boss' colouring and appearance.

 “All-riiiiight. I won't skin you THIS time. But just because you inadvertently brought me this video gem. But now, you can GO... bye bye” Moriarty smiled lopsidedly and watched his sniper leave, locking the door after him. Sidestepping back into his computer room, Jim pulled up live feed of 221B. He was definitely going to pay attention to John Watson now.

 

* * *

 

John Watson was completely unaware of that he was the criminal masterminds new fixation, and so arrived back at the apartment- smiling. This was something his flat mate noticed immediately.

 “Who is she?” Sherlock asked with out looking up,

“Who is who, Sherlock.” The stalked man asked, clearly annoyed, smile slipping off his tanned face.

“Oh, well you where smiling so I assumed you and someone...” the detective looked the ex solider up and down and shrugged “But no, you clearly didn't, carry on whatever you were doing.” This man, completely oblivious to his companion rolling his eyes, dug his nose into the paper he was holding. His phone binged.

 

**Tut, tut! Sherl, you really should treat your pets more kindly.**

 

Sherlock studied the message and flicked his eyes around the flat.

 

“What?” John asked noting the change of demeanour.

 

“Nutin'.” The younger Holmes replied quickly pocketing his phone.

 

 _'Nutin'? Since when did Sherlock Holmes say Nutin, and not reply to texts._ John couldn't help but wonder as his flat mate pulled on his coat and scarf.

 

“Going out.” He confirmed already by the door.

 

 _Seriously, what's got into him? Well at least my day has been good. That was so fun... And so tiring._ Watson collapsed on to his bed. _And even better I think I've got over those stupid brown eyes, I haven't thought about them at all for the last hour. Oh..._

John hit his head on the wall clearly in exasperation, but slightly harder than he must of expected. The genius army doctor knocked himself out.

 

Sherlock rested against the door of 221B. Frowning at his phone.

**What do you want Moriarty? SH**

 Unbeknown to the detective, Jim grinned  _John._

**Why Sherly dear that, I have to say, is none of your business. Just watch out, I might have to call the RSPCA on you if you don't treat poor Johnny boy better.**

Sherlock could practically see Moriarty grin.

**You don't dictate me, now don't you have some people to bomb or something? SH**

 

**What a lovely suggestion I just might.**

 

John had reached a lighter state of unconsciousness now, and could dream. Which wasn't really a plus in the doctor's books.

It wasn't a nightmare exactly, though the ex solider might wish it was. It was just images and feelings: the pool, guns, fire, and the same brown eyes, the same arms holding him, blood, pain, heat, smiles, tears, and then back to the eyes.

 John Watson opened his own. It was way past midnight now and he had collapsed at 7, he frowned at the ceiling. Shivering at the thought that those brown eyes could be watching him now. Convinced his subconscious was trying to tell him something, he prepared to thoroughly ignore it. Turning over he stared at the wall as sleep regained hold. Leaving Moriarty to stare fixedly at his chest, rising slowly and falling slower still, repeating over and over until it calmed the insomniac criminal's brain enough that he too could sleep. 


	6. Surface Tension

John didn't notice the extra weight in his bed, until it rolled onto him.

“Ohmyfuckinggod! SHERLOCK WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

In one smooth movement, John pulled his cover over him, sat up- pulling his knees to his chest, and spinning the bed thieving detective onto the floor.The affronted man sat up, shook his curls back into shape before replying calmly. “I was making sure you didn't have any more nightmares, John, I need my blogger happy.”

 

“Well Sherlock don't bother, it didn't work.”

 

“Didn't it?” The brunette looked shocked then muttered under his breath “Stupid Mycroft.”

 

“Hang on, does this mean I am back on the case?”

 

Sherlock stared at him for two long minuets, then dipped his head towards the floor. “No, John it's really important you're not on this case.”

 

Watson glared at Holmes. “Fine, I'm going out.” John stormed out of his bed room, grabbing his jumper and gun. Sherlock paused, “John...”

 

He paused.

 

“SHERLOCK IT'S 2 AM?!”

 

The door slammed as Watson stormed on to the still dark street.

 

John hadn't meant to walk here, he didn't want to walk here, but his feet had still decided to take him to the one place he really didn't want to be. And at half two in the morning John Hamish Watson found himself breaking into a swimming pool.

_Crap_

He froze halfway through the window he had just broken.

 _What the hell am I doing here?_   He swung the rest of his body through the window, then swore out loud as he realised where “here” was. It was a pool, _The pool._ Now normally in situations like this, he would just climb back out the window, and walk away. However, for some reason completely escaping the army doctors mind, his feet (bare as he had forgotten shoes) had other ideas. He walked forwards.

_What the hell. Stop, feet for I am lord of thee. Ugh, I really am tired._

When his feet did not stop, John concluded that he was probably sleeping. This explained a lot. The blogger, therefore wasn't really surprised when he looked down and notice that his chest was submerged in water. He realised his feet really, REALLY hurt.  Which made sense considering walking around in London with out any sure just about guarantees you will be stepping on glass.

  _But if I am dreaming, how do I know I'm dreaming?_

_What the hell, I need to get out, NOW. Move John MOVE._

 

In reply his knees buckled, the water was now above his head.

 

_Oh my god, I need to move._

 

Pain burst in his head, his chest.

 

_God drowning in dreams is bad, but this is worse._

 

His hands clenched but his legs still didn't move.

_Maybe this is better, NO. Maybe it is, I won't hurt, I won't have nightmares. I won't...I want to live?_

 

A pair of brown eyes knocked aside his thoughts. Not knowing if his mouth was open or not, John titled his head up.

 

“It's OK. Relax.” He couldn't place the voice, but it was so calming. So, so, calming.

 

The brown eyes, where kind, warm, and sure.

 

“Relax, John.”

 

Arms pushed him back.

John allowed himself to float to the bottom of the pool.

 

“Breath...”

 

His mouth was open, water entered his throat. Choking John, squeezed his eyes shut, the brown pair disappeared. Distraught he opened them again. The other's eluded his gaze, but looking up at the surface from below, it struck the man how beautiful it was. _Why bother to spoil it?_

 

_NO, get up, UP, Move JOHN, you didn't survive Afghanistan for this._

 

_WHY? Why should I move._

 

His lungs burned, even they tried to convince him.

They failed.

 

_What have I got to go back to. No case, no girlfriend, no friends (minus Sherlock and even that's changing), just a damn scar and nightmares of what I use to be._

 

 He reopened his mouth, water flowed easily inside of him. John closed his eyes.

 

_This is it._

 

His arms flowed out, head tilting back. A shadow fell over him. His eyes shot open, John's common sense flowed into him with the water. _It's too late, I can't move._ And it was true he couldn't, the water had drained him, Watson was about to pass out...

 

Brown eyes reappeared above him.

 

_Great._

Pale arms reached down, hands gripped his shoulders.

_Seriously, do I really need to repeat this?_

John's head clouded. These hands tightened as he re-closed his eyes. _Dying_ _is bad enough, do I really need to hallucinate as well?_

Nails dug in, as John felt himself move to the surface. The surface broke.

He vaguely felt himself be shaken. Roughly. Irritated, John peeled his eyelids open, just in time to have brown hair obscure his vision. Lips, became shoved against his. Air forced its way towards his lungs. The person pulled back, roughly pushed John's head to the side as water poured out his mouth. The ex doctor's face was ripped back up, the harsh lips resealed on his, air forced again into his lungs. John chocked slightly as the person pulled back, quickly they forced more air into his lungs.

Gasping and coughing, the ex doctor sat up, bending over he sicked up the chlorinated water. Breathing hard he looked up, brown eyes returned his confused look, with a worried interest. John choked even more, wheezing he asked incredulously finally seeing the owner of the brown eyes.

“Mori- (cough)- arty?”

 

The criminal locked eyes, John froze still trying his hardest to breath regularly. The man opposite looked livid.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR JOHN?” there was no song in his voice, not humour just pure frustration. This scared John more than anything.

 

“Maybe it's the lack of oxygen, or the shock of being kissed by you, that's making this hard for me to understand. But, what am I meant to have done?” Jim blinked in shock. And so did John.

 _What the hell, he is a master criminal, he just saved my life and I say that. Brain, what is wrong with me?_ John flung his hand in front of his mouth trying to contain any more words tumbling out.

 

Jim slapped him. _Ouch._

 

“WHAT GIVES YOU THE IDEA THAT YOU CAN TALK TO ME LIKE THAT?”

 

“That didn't really make it any clearer.” The words gushed like water, slipping from beneath his fingers.

 

_What. The. HELL._

 

Moriarty seemed to have the same thoughts.

 

“Erm, Johnny dear, are you OK?”

 

“No Jimmy darling, if you hadn't noticed I nearly drowned.” The words came with a slightly camp accent.

 

This took the criminal a few seconds to register, then Jimmy darling burst out laughing.

 

“This is why I couldn't let you throw your life; you're either the most interesting man I have ever met, or the most stupid, but as both are impressive titles, I couldn't let you just end it. Could I?”

 

“I'll go with the second, and I'm pretty sure you could. How do you even know I'm here?”

 

“Love, are you serious? You would just rather die than have someone save you?” John's question transparently going unanswered.

 

“Yes.”

 

Moriarty, stepped back eyes roaming up and down the soaked figure. It was something that should scared John, but to be honest it was rather unimpressive after what he had just been through.

 

“You, really? Would prefer to die?”

 

“YES.”

“Why?”

 

“Why would you save me?”

 

They re-locked eyes. Jim shrugged, John mirrored.

 

“Go home, Watson, go home. And try not to throw your self under a bus, I would really hate to kiss you again.”

 

“I wouldn't mind...”

 

_John, you're losing it._

 

“Maybe later I'll take you up on that, doctor. BUT now you need to rest. And be a dear, don't mention this to Sherlock.”

 

Moriarty forcefully pushed him out of the door and halfway down the stairs. “GO!”

 

 _At least I know who's eyes they are now._ John thought climbing into the sleek black car behind the building.

 

Jim face palmed.

 

_Oh Johnny boy, that was pretty stupid._

 


	7. The ripple effect

 “Seb did you HAVE to drug him?”

 

“Boss? I was just following your orders. You were very specific about what to do if anyone broke in to the car.”

 

“Did you NOT see that I was JUST talking to him?”

 

 “No.”

Jim sighed and looked down at the unconscious doctor, his wet blonde hair had splayed haphazardly on the black leather seat. The strands of hair spiked up slightly framing his face.

_Awww look at that! The little pet looks like a hedgehog. At least now he will definitely get some sleep- he'll, probably, even think that he was dreaming, the whole thing. That's probably better, he must have been half asleep already._

_Well nah, that's why he was acting so weird._

 

“Ok,” Moriarty's eyes locked on the blonde strands,

“Uh Huh... You don't say Seb.

Right.”

 

“Boss?”

 

The criminal lazily ran his hands through John's hair.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Sir...”

No reply.

“BOSS!”

Again no reply.

Sighing Moran pulled a gun out of his pocket and halfheartedly aimed it at their unconscious prisoner.

 

“WHAT!?” Moriarty huffed knocking down Seb's gun.

 

“You alright?”

 

“YEESS, just trying to fix YOUR problem.”

The sniper rolled his eyes.

 

“So what we gonna do?”

No response, turning slightly, Seb confirmed that his bosses eyes, and hands, where back onto the man's hair.

 

“Jim?”

 

Moriarty turned practically hissing. “WHAT?”

 

“Your plan is...?”

  
“Sebby, I will fire you, then skin your ass if you don't start treating me with respect.”

Moran grimaced, “It's been a long night, sir.”

“Indeed it has, but what do you expect? A present?”

Jim froze his eyes visibly brightening.

 

“Sir..?” Sebastian looked over and sighed.

 

The door bell rang, Sherlock jumped of his chair _5 hours that was a long walk, even for John._

Halfway to the door his phone binged.

 

**I hope you like my present- but pets aren't just for Christmas. Or even mid April Sherl.**

 

The consulting detective frowned, opened the door and jumped backwards, squeaking slightly.

Jim was now, really, really, glad that he had also put sound equipment in 221 b. Sherlock stared in disbelief at the thing falling towards him. It was John, wrapped neck to toe in garish neon pink and neon orange stripped wrapping paper, and a green bow loosely tied around his neck. As he noticed what had happened to John's hair there was a clunk. The younger Holmes brother had evidently fainted.

 

* * *

 

When John woke up, it seemed like he had had a pretty good night, no nightmares no interruptions. He stretched out of the fetal position that the doctor had apparently curled into whilst asleep. He had that wondrous feeling that nothing could go wrong; he had slept soundly and woken naturally. Without a care in the world he sat up, scratching his scalp. He paused, then pulled at a tendril of his hair, tugging it down to eye-level. Trying not to yell in shock, John realised that something might of happened last night. His hair was in curls. He had dated a hairdresser once and noted the professional style it was done in. So Sherlock was out of the picture. Luckily for him it wasn't an actual perm, just a temporary one. John cautiously ran his hand through his curled hair, it was unnaturally soft.

_Well, ok this isn't weird in the slightest._

John swept back his hair again, _It actually feels quite nice._

Watson stretched again. Something tore.

 

_Um._

 

He looked down. _Oh. So... Some one, er, someone has.. What the hell? Righhhhht. I have a bow around my neck,_  He scrunched his face into a frown _that's normal. I am wearing... Err, um something._

 

John rolled off of his bed and army crawled to the closet mirror. Pushing him self to his feet, rocking backwards as his blue eyes took in the crazy image.

 

_Wrapping paper, I am wearing WRAPPING PAPER? Definitely **not** my normal morning ware- might be able to work with it though. _

 

The suggestive posse he pulled next made Jim moan with want, zooming in on the footage the criminal was disappointed to find that John had resumed his common sense.

 

_Jeez am I really this weird in the morning?_

 

He looked up and down his reflection. _That took some skill. The wrapping is really well done, and they even where thoughtful enough to tie it so I can move my arms._

 

John sighed.  _What to do? Well I  need to find out why I look like an oversized birthday present. But to do that I need sleep._

 

In an impressive movement, John wriggled towards the bed, flipped over on to it, spun around pulling the covers back over him, and fell to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, he awoke with shredded paper all over him.

_What a crazy night._

John sat up the confetti falling from him, and happily discovered that he hadn't been wrapped up naked . Seeing that he was wearing his favourite red pants John theorised that he had probably been abducted, on a Monday, recently time had felt a blur- but he had a feeling that might have been yesterday. He wasn't sure WHY or if someone was keeping to his underwear timeline. But he hoped they where.

The baffled man threw on a shirt, ran his hands through his curly hair again, dragged on a jumper, checked a watch on his table confirming it was Tuesday, and stepped into his jeans. I'm _gonna get some brain food._

 

Halfway through a blackberry jam sandwich John froze, voices echoed around his head.

 

“You, really, would prefer to die?”

 

“YES.”

“Why?”

 

“Why would you save me?”

 

  _I am awake right now right?_

 

He glared at the sandwich accusingly, 'This isn't what I meant by brain food.'

 

“WHAT GIVES YOU THE IDEA THAT YOU CAN TALK TO ME LIKE THAT?”

 

The chair scrapped against the floor as the ex army doctor threw the sandwich on the table and tried to get as far away as he could from it, then common sense hit him. _Sandwiches can't talk._

 

“Erm, Johnny dear, are you OK?”

 

Even though Johnny dear had just realised that it was a poor inanimate object, he eyed the sandwich as if he was looking for a wire, a microphone, a mouth? Admitting defeat didn't come naturally to him, but even John had seen the flaw in his theory and so sat back down head in hands. Moodily watching the sandwich, just in case.

 

“Go home, Watson, go home. And try not to throw your self under a bus, I would really hate to kiss you again.”

 

“I wouldn't mind...”

 

All thoughts of the talking sandwich averted John instead focused on the more troubling thought of where this conversation was going. Especially troubling because he had just identified the voices. 

_Oh crap. OH CRAP! OH buggering...Crap... This is getting a bit repetitive. Well that explains the brown eyes, I think, hang on I think I thought that before. Hmm. What should I do now..._

 

“This is why I couldn't let you throw your life; you're either the most interesting man I have ever met or the most stupid, but as both are impressive titles, I couldn't let you just end it. Could I?”

 

_Well I could always ask him._

 

 

 


	8. Splash!

As a criminal master mind, James Moriarty never felt like doing anything if it didn't have an immediate effect or if it wasn't an ingenious part of an overarching plan. However, ever since he had re-dressed John in wrapping paper, a **totally necessary** thing to do, Jim had the strange urge to do something normal. Even while the mere thought of the word ' _Normal_  ' brought a sneer to his face.

“Sir, What is it?”

Moriarty completely ignored his sniper. _As usual._  Thought Sebastian snidely.

“Going out,” Eventually replied Jim, as he realised that he had been asked a question.

“Should I go with...” Jim walked out, “OK THANKS BOSS! I just love our conversations.” Rolling his eyes, Moran pocketed then gun he had been polishing and followed his _Obnoxiously arrogant_ boss. And once again hopped that Moriarty could not read minds.

“Sebby, you are SO kind...”

_Lucky guess._

* * *

“John where are you going?”

“Sherlock you like your tea with milk in it, I LIKE my tea with milk in it. But milk doesn't just appear, so SOMEONE has to get it. And as you appear to be fused to the sofa again, I must be the one to get it. That's what I'm doing.”

“Oh, Ok.”

This was technically true, John was quick to remind himself. _But if I just accidentally come across a maniac's safe house whilst walking to the shops or back from it, you just can't guess what will happen. But to be honest, I don't think he will know ANYTHING about it. I'll probably die. I'm definitely gonna die, LET'S just get milk. I don't even know where the safe house is properly. I just sorta have a feeling its somewhere near(ish) the shop. Maybe._  

Having this internal conversation John was slightly surprised when he had already reached the shops. _OH well. I'll look for it on the way back... Probably. Now though: milk._

Turning quickly into the milk isle; the blonde, hedgehog looking man crashed into another figure. 

“OUCH!”

 

“You'll hurt a LOT more in a second, love.” Was replied amidst a snarl. Before either of them could recognise the other, a knife was pushed against John's neck and a bead of blood had formed, fast. However, John's plan had formed faster.

 

“Er, there's a security camera right there.”

 

“AH thank you.” Moriarty practically purred in his ear, “Sadly dear, I've already disabled it. Wait what are you- OW!”

Using his adversity's lack of concentration, John had pulled the knife arm back from his neck, sunk his teeth into the pale skin and was now turning around pushing: the criminal's head into the milk trolley, and the knife lightly into it's owner's own back.

 

“OWCH!”

John began to dig in the knife, then froze as Jim turned his head slightly.

 

“Oh crap,” he muttered, and less then a second later Moran had pulled him back off his boss and had started strangling John.

 

_Shows that stupid fucker right, knifing ME?_

Jim stood up, brushing the back of his suit, fixing his hair and turning with a cat like smile. “So you're the low life...” He froze, “Oh for fuck's sake John.” The madman rolled his wide eyes, clicked his fingers and watched as Seb dropped John. 

“GAH,” John wiped his watering eyes, “I think I've lost enough breath for 48 hours already, thank you.”  
squinting up at Moriarty he tried to gauge his reaction,

 

“Have you dear? That's nice, Sherlock treating you _t_ _hat_ well?”

 

“WHAT, ewwwww. NO. Why, would you think that?” John struggled through the words, desperately trying not to gag.

 

Jim raised one eyebrow superciliously. “Thou doth protest a bit too much there, Johnny boy.” Responded Moriarty, ignoring the swirls of bile in his stomach. He had meant to say that in a joking way, but found instead he found his brow rebelling, furrowing into a serious arch of distaste.The Ex army doctor had stared danger in the face many times, and it didn't take Sherlock to figure that this situation had bigger threats than being short changed at the till.

 

_I'm gonna die if this conversation continues like this. I did sorta ask for this didn't I? Let's talk to the notoriously insane master criminal- pure genius._

_Oh that's an idea. A crap idea, but oh well, best one I got._

 “Hey, Jim?” Said John as cheerfully as he could, hoping that his use of Moriarty's first name wouldn't be a mistake.

A ghost of a smile, danced on Moriarty's features. The sick feeling in his stomach disappeared at once,

“Yes Johnny, dear?”

 

“I was wondering, well...”

 

“Go ahead, honey, I promise I won't bite. Unless you don't want me to, of course.” Grinning properly, Moriarty winked.

John tried to fight off his own playful grin. _It's Moriarty, the guy tied a bomb to you. Oh and another point A GUY._ John wasn't homophobic, just during his army days he had been pushed towards that side of the line. _However it's Moriarty, if he's is into it, this flirting thing it might help._ Letting his smile slide back onto to his face.

 

“Well, as tempting as that sounds, I do actually have a serious question to ask you.”

 

“Awwh, don't be shy Johnny boy. I suppose I'll do you a favour and listen to it...”

 

“Sorry, but can I insist we go somewhere more private.” _Just in case Sherlock actually comes looking for his milk._

 

“That's _perfectly_ fine, sweetie- no need to apologise. I agree Sherlock would be a little bit of a downer on this conversation, you tend to be a bit less talkative when he is around.”

 

“Oh, thanks?” _That wasn't creepy at all, it sorta seemed like he read my..._ Moriarty's eyes gleamed, as somehow his cat like smile grew even more. _And neither was that._

 

“So um, where?”

 

“Sebby can lead the way...”

 

“Cool, so. How was your weekend?”

 

“Gee, doctor! Your conversation skills are truly fantastic... My weekend was very... Enlightening,” Moriarty locked his dark eyes on John's blue ones. “Yours?”

 

The intensity of the stare made John gulp “Yeah, you could sort of say that about mine too.”

Forcing himself to break the magnetic gaze, John looked at the floor instead.

 

“Ok, then dear. I shall. We're here now.”

Looking back up the blogger couldn't suppress a grin. _I knew his safe house would be around here._

 

“So, what's this _serious question_ then Johnny?”

 

“Moran, right? Go inside.” The ex army doctor used his war voice. Moran looked shocked for a moment, and started to edge towards the door.

 

"Hang on, why should I listen to you?” Seb demanded, this was the man who had James bond-ed around his training facility.

Moriarty grinned, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement, John's tone was amazing.

“Sebastian MORAN get your STUBBORN ass inside that BUILDING, do I make my self clear?” John was quite use to bratty soldiers, seeing as in the old days he had had to treat more than his fair share.

“Y..yes sir.”

 

Jim tried not to giggle as his sniper practically sprinted.

“Johnny dear, what was that!?” Moriarty chuckled, now letting himself laugh.

 

“Huh?”

 

 “Oh, THAT was precious!”

 

“It was?”

 

"People do tend to forget that hedgehogs have spikes, don't they?” Moriarty doubled up. And then laughed harder, at the perplexed look on John's face.

 

“Er, yes?”

 Wiping his eyes, Jim took his time standing back up, and met John's confused smirk with a face breaking smile.

It was the doctor's time to raise his eyebrow questioningly.

 

“Oh kay.”

 

 “You had a question, Johnny didn't you? My company alone not good enough for you” Moriarty pouted.

 John grinned with out knowing. _I'm not gay, but if I was it probably would explain why the consulting criminal just made my trousers grow tight. And if I where gay, I would really be questioning my morals. But I'm not- so I must be straight. Hangon if I am straight, why do I have a raging hard-on?_

 

Ignoring his thoughts, “Jim, er Moriarty. Yesterday- this morning even. Did you go to a pool?”

Jim, er Moriarty's eyes brightened again, “Care to be more specific, hon?”

“Like at 3am.”

“Johnny dear, I meant the pool.”

 

John glared at him,

“Jimmy darling, did we have a conversation?”

Jim winked.

“I'm pretty sure, even you can figure that out Johnny!”

 

“Crap. Well, sorry er I wasn't thinking properly.”

 

“Uh huh? You won't be wanting that kiss then?" 

 

“I'm not gay.” He replied even though the throbbing underneath his trousers clearly disagreed.

Jim pointedly looked down. Blushing the increasingly embarrassed man squirmed trying to hide the bulge, which seemed to be growing as its owner tried to shrink into the shadows.

“Its ok darling... Cause guess what? I've got one too.”

John tried to fight the urge to look, failed and blushed even more on discovering the fact that: Yes Jim too had an erection. He gulped, then coughed to not send the wrong impression.

 

“I'm not, ehm, gay. Jim..Er, Moriarty I'm honestly not.”

 

“Johnny boy, SOMEhow I just don't believe you... So d'ya wanna admit you're gay so we can get on with this?” 

John managed to turn even more red. Jim took his lack of reply as submission. Wickedly thinking how he might have to starve John of oxygen waaaay more often because selfishly: this little hedgehog didn't like to play whilst being able to think for itself; Moriarty stepped forward pressing his lips gently, but firmly against John's, and pressing their erections together. Politely, Jim waited for John to get use to the situation before continuing. He was more than just a little bit shocked when half a second later, the 100% heterosexual man began to snog him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward Lesbian depiction of male grinding, what could go wrong?


	9. Eugh the climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning SMUT! take your innocence and hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only took me two years to write this....

_I'm not gay, I'M NOT. Especially not for that lunatic. NOT gay. I'M not._

His mouth began to open pushing Jim's thin lips apart.

_I'm not._

His tongue darted in and began a hectic fight for dominance with Moriarty, pushing the rather shocked criminal back into a wall.

_No way am I gay._

Jim recovered from his temporary paralysis, and wrapped his legs around John's torso, pulling them impossibly close.

As his hands roved over Moriarty's chest, ripping open the white shirt Jim always wore underneath his suit, John surfaced for air; glared at the criminal for being so god damn cute and slammed his lips back onto Jim's.

_Maybe Bi?_

Grinning through the kiss, Moriarty snaked his hands through John's hair and pulled him even closer.

Sebastian Moran had seen some pretty weird stuff working for Moriarty, and already prided himself on how awkwardly/badly he timed things. But this was new for him, and kinda scarring. He had looked gingerly out of the safe house's window, somehow he had already known he wouldn't like what his saw, the sniper had frozen, his face stuck halfway between blushing and grimacing. His eyes widened.

"Fuck."

The solider who had yelled at him was getting it on with his boss, and geeze their hands where every where. Luckily for Seb, John blocked the view of Jim sliding off him a terrifying cat like grin all over his face as he expertly removed John's jeans. But it took little imagination to guess what was happening, and when John gripped the wall for support, clenched his muscles and shouted, it confirmed to Moran that his guess was correct.

Desperately trying to pull his eyes away from the window before he vomited, Seb dropped his gun on his foot. After retrieving it he quickly glanced out the window fully intending to look away, but then he noticed their positions had been reversed and he could sort of see his boss' junk. Torn between a disgustingly heightened interest and actually keeping his lunch down, the sniper looked into Moriarty's face and realized his boss could see him. Turning bright red, Sebby tried to move from the window, then his boss grinned tapped John on his shoulder pointed at Moran, the little bastard then looked back towards Seb winked, wiggled his bare hips, then pushed his dick back into the blondes mouth.

Internally screaming, Seb blanched red and pushed himself forcefully away from the window and try to erase the last 15 minuets of his memory. In desperate need for help Moran grabbed his phone ran out of the back door and rang the only person out side of work he knew.

**Some time later- like the next day maybe.**

"Well Johnny boy that was fun!" Jim grinned lips slightly bloated, pulling himself back up off the carpeted floor. He winched.

"Where do you think you're going?" John grabbed Moriarty by his hips and pulled him back down.

"Whoa, calm down deary. I've got a criminal organisation to run, and as much as I would love to lie here on the ground with you all day, I can't."

Standing back up again, Jim lazily took in where they and was slightly impressed that they actually made it into the house.

"Jim," growled John from the floor.

Gritting his teeth Moriarty turned around. "Yes?"

"Don't...efhgh," pushing him self up into a sitting position John locked his eyes onto Jim's "Don't run off."

"What?" averting his eyes, Jim made himself busy by pulling his shirt of a counter and pulling it back on.

"No waltzing away."

"Pardon?"

"You saved my life, twice, you are not telling me that was just for a one nighter."

"Johnny dear, do you think you are in any position to make demands."

Moriarty stalked towards the door.

"Jim,"

Rolling his eyes, Jim spun on his heel. "WHAT?" Then sighing at the glare shooting from his hedgehog's eyes he sat down again. "I don't have 'relationships' with people John." staring into the ocean of blues John's eyes provided the criminal desperately tried to convey his thoughts. His fears of commitment.

His defensive smirk fell of his face as he realise how true that was. Even if John liked him more than just a fuck buddy, they would use John as a weakness. But John couldn't possibly like him, he was a monster.

_Crap. Johnny this is my problem. I knew from the minuet I saw you where the stupidly caring kind, someone who might be able to think me as human. Why didn't I run then. I thought I could get this_ _outta_ _my system, one quick bang and then done. But no you had to infect me with your heart didn't you. Well John sorry._

"I CAN'T." Jim flew to his feet and bolted out the door leaving a dazedly confused John in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also planning to make series, what d'ya think?


End file.
